Stockholm Syndrome
by hellsingfan101
Summary: A take on Alucard's servitude to Hellsing. He serves them with great pleasure in delight. But truly has he always felt such strong ties to his Masters? Does Count Dracula enjoy being on a tight leash held by humans? Maybe, but what if it isn't Alucard's true intentions. Inspired by a conversation with KittySkywalker.


**So this is an idea I had when speaking to a fellow Fanfictionist and deviantartist KittySkywalker about Alucard and the status of his servitude. We have debated recently about Alucard forcibly being put into Abraham Van Helsing's slavery in cruel torturous conditions. With this theory it's possible and I agree likely that Alucard has suffered from Stockholm Syndrome as he is in a sense a captive and slave to the Hellsing family line. So this is a third person interpretation of that. This is for you too Kitty!**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to say I don't own Hellsing anymore? Isn't it sadly obvious :( **

_Stockholm Syndrome_

_Definition: _

_Stockholm syndrome, or capture bonding, is a psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and sympathy and have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them. These feelings are generally considered irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims, who essentially mistake a lack of abuse from their captors for an act of kindness. _

~+*1897, Night one*+~

Groggily he awoke, slowly recapping what had happened. The humans, the woman, his castle in the distance, the sharpened wood embedded in his chest.

The Nosferatu's eyes widened as he realized where he was, no longer in his coffin, nor in his castle, but in a dungeon. He attempted to move, but realized it a futile attempt. Shackles bind his arms and legs, silver plated chains. Just enough movement to rattle the shining chains made him hiss in pain. Silver! The humans seem to have thought of everything!

He was angry, humans, mere humans! Cattle, in his perspective, were able to defeat him? He had the strength of twenty men, the stamina of a strong, fiercesome hunter bound and shackled by four men. He realized later in the days to come that one-the American he remembered-had died from his injuries. He laughed, good. But then what about the remaining three? What became of them? Were they alive, plotting what to do with him next, now that he lay, captured and vulnerable with no idea where he was? What became of his Mina? Did they destroy her too? If he was still alive, his blood would still pulse through her veins. She couldn't be fully turned yet, he would know if that had happened. He could feel a faint pulse that was the thread linking them together, but it was very weak. She was still human and retained her humanity, for now. He knew it was not likely he would ever see her again.

That last thought hadn't left him, he clenched his shackled fists. He was angry, angered at what had happened. All to him. He was totally defeated. His domain and castle in ruins, his servants destroyed and dead, forgotten from the world. The one thought to be his lost love, once again taken from him, still lost wandering alone in the dark. He roared with rage, he could feel the meal burning deeper into his skin as he thrashed and resisted. He was abandoned by God long ago, left to fend for himself using all of the powers of death and darkness that he could muster. He create others into what he was, allow a select few to delve into the power of the Devil's Son.

Yet he was to just roll over and accept defeat by some, weak-minded, feeble, old man's hand?

Van Helsing, the very name made him snarl, sharpened eye teeth clenched together. Blood red eyes piercing the darkness with their eerie glow. He would kill them, he would slaughter them all, painting the walls with their blood. He had defeated and killed the Turks with a sword, he had destroyed and devoured mortal men and women with his bare hands.

He would not give up his resolve, he would be the end of these humans. He would sooner face the Devil himself before he bowed his head to Van Helsing.

~+*1897, Night 3*+~

The humans had conducted some sort of ritual, while the Count lay, still shackled. He didn't realize until they enter, allowing a flood of piercing light into the pitch black dark, hat he was no longer in his black suit, nor his cape. It was some form of a straight jacket, only the suit was completely black. Buckles and buttons adorned the outfit from the neck down to the black boots. Was he meant to be dressed up like a prisoner, like a lunatic in Dr. Seward's asylum. Van Helsing had used some sort of dark magic against him. He bound him with ancient power, binding him to the man's blood and lineage further on. A ritual, so that he would be forever caged, forever bound. He was a dog fastened to a tight leash, a leash where the dog had no way out of his hold. The old man was even so senile as to think he could give him a new name like his pet! Hah!

The vampire sneered, showing teeth at the humans during his binding.

"No longer shall you go by any other name than Alucard. You are no longer a King, a Count. You are and forever shall be mine, and my upbringings servant." Van Helsing declared. It was painfully obvious the symbolism the Dutchmen was poorly attempting to elaborate:

DRACULA

ALUCARD

His surname spelled backwards. A reversal of the letters as it was a reversal of positions. The name Dracula being of a noble warlord and King, and Alucard being of a loyly subject, a slave bound by heavy shackles. The name was unoriginal and he had at another time almost used it. He had attempted to use that name as an alias himself once when he travelled to Hungary in 1614, but found that to be too obvious-though that didn't stop him from using an alternate anagram, but that was beside the point.

"Do you understand me, Alucard?"

"Nu trebuie să răspundă la tine, Helsing" He spat, using his native tongue as he hissed, feeling the sudden white pain.

The 'leash' was being tugged hard for his disobedience.

"Silence, vampire, you are in no position to stand against me. Your nightmare of horrors has ended. You are nothing now." Abraham said, his piercing blue eyes burning into the crimson ones. He knew it would not be easy to tame the beast, he was more monster than man. He knew who he was, whom he _once_ was; a human man, triumphant on a medieval battlefield time and time again throughout life. A warrior of God, fighting, killing, destroying his enemies for His sake.

Until he turned to Satan when he was at the doorstep of death. Now this monster, this creature before him, with monstrous teeth and eyes burning as red as the fires of Hell, was merely a shell of what he once was, no matter what the vampire believed to perceive himself as.

Van Helsing turned away from the vampire, Seward and Godalming following suit, as the Count was left alone in the dank dungeon with only his own thoughts for company.

He growled, feeling more and more agony. But he stayed true to his resolve. He hated them, they could dismember him, cut off his head, rip out his heart. But he refused to surrender.

He had been the Turk's prisoner as a boy, when his own blood brother had bent backwards and become the Sulten's doll, his lapdog. While he had resisted, he fought back, and after such years of these trials and tortures, he won. He took back his throne as Wallachia's Voivode, restoring peace, fair law, and order to his land and people.

~+*1897, Night 14*+~

The old man had been poking and prodding at him like an amoeba in a petri dish. He treated as something small, insignificant. He stabbed him, burned him, sliced him. He experimented with him, this so-called physician, trying to understand the vampire's physiology through his ways of modern science. He would take his blood, he would inject the creature with harsh chemicals and formulas of his own creation, he attempted to change what was called "molecular structure, genetic material, DNA." The vampire cared as much as he cared for Helsing's company.

But he was far more than an amoeba, he was capable of much more. He could lift twenty grown men with one hand, he could outrun the fastest creature that ever thrived. He fed off of death, the blood is the life, as his helpless human pet Renfield would cry. He was a vampire, capable of besting any human.

But Van Helsing, he was a human whom did not fall easy. The man's hair already greying, the creases and forming wrinkles on his sand toned face depicted many signs of weakness and age. So how was this old fool able to best he? The creature called by his enemies Vlad Tepes, by his own people and the English speakers Count Dracula. How? Had he been sloppy? Was it all too soon, the events leading to him being here, tied up, becoming a humans playtoy and specimen?

Or, had the human truly been stronger?

No! Never would the Count accept that, it simply wasn't possible.

~+*1897, Night 60*+~

Now two months into slavery, and surprisingly he was walking around the manor. On his way to Van Helsing-or just Hellsing as he was now. After another few weeks of being subjected to experiments and testing, every time being tested to his limits as he had had holy water dumped upon his head feeling as though his flesh were peeling back on his face, silver shackles searing and indenting into his skin.

But suddenly, the pain had stopped. The Dutchmen cut him loose from the physical bindings. When his feet made contact with the floor, he felt ready to come at the human. Tear into flesh, sink fangs into his jugular, and summon his minions to feast upon the remains.

But, for some reason he just stood there. The Count, now fully facing the elderly man, did nothing to strike back. As if a wall separated them.

"Surprised Alucard?" The Dutchmen asked, he knew full well the vampire wanted to kill him in that instant. "As I said, you and I are linked, and bound. While this bond remains intact, you cannot lay a hand against me. Which is why, you are unable to strike me down."

He merely stared at the human blankly, unsure of what he should do next.

"You shall go back to your dungeon until I require your assistance," He said as both an answer and an order.

An order that the vampire followed, finding himself, freely and unescorted back to the sublevels.

Now, the Hellsing said he had a special announcement.

"You will be leaving the mansion tonight," He said looking up from his papers, at the black clad vampire. "For a special assignment. There have been reports of several attacks, the victims having the throats slashed. Which is where I need you."

That was when the hunting started. He was the vampire Alucard, sent by the newly founded Hellsing Organization to kill vampires.

"You will report back immediately after disposing of the target, is that understood, Servant?" He said, looking at the vampire as he waited for the response. The Count nodded, but this didn't satisfy the human.

"I said, Alucard, is that understood?" He repeated, his eyes narrowed on him.

Maybe it was he experimentation, something in the chemicals. Maybe the seals were stronger than he anticipated.

Or maybe the walls within the recesses of his mind, had begun to crack.

As he said in accented English, "Yes, Master."

~+*1912, Fifteen years later*+~

He had partaken in only a decade and a half of servitude to the Hellsing's. But, it felt strange, more like a partnership. Abraham sent him to exterminate and eradicate, and he-now Alucard from this point on-got the thrill and reborn adrenaline of bloodshed and battle. In some sense he may be considered a traitor to his kind, but they were not of his blood or kin, the vampires he entangled with were pathetic, weak. They deserved to die true death by his hands.

He was an assassin, an assassin of the undead by the command of a human's hand. He had though of the servitude as merely this until the Dutchmen grew ill and bedridden.

He was growing weaker everyday, unlike his undead servant, he would not live forever. It wold soon be Abraham Van Helsing's time to leave this world.

But on every night-even on the very occasional circumstance where Alucard was not sent out to investigate or annihilate-the vampire would see to his Master.

It came as a surprise to Abraham in his dying state of mind as he saw the familiar red coat that he normally wore, adorning the Count tonight.

He laughed, but stifled coughing hard, "Stealing your Master's clothes have you?" Abraham said groggily. He was so used to seeing the Nosferatu in the strait jacket, that it felt strange seeing the monster in new attire.

"My new Master is not yet old enough to wear it," Alucard replied, "And I do like this color, it'd be a shame to see it moth eaten and catching dust."

"Normally I would demand you return my coat where it rightfully belongs," He began couching again, clenching the sheets as his throat felt dry and broken. "But you would certainly blend in better on investigative conduct missions. And as I almost appalled to say it, you do seem to do the look some justice. So this once, I'll allow it."

His coughing fit started again, but the vampire could smell the blood as the Dutchmen attempted to stifle the hacking coughs with a handkerchief.

"Seward has told me, based on his results, that I only have a few more months, barely a year he said to me." He said, Alucard wasn't sure if he spoke to the vampire or himself. "Arthur is still so young."

"You've taught him, and trained him Master."

"He's just a boy, he's not ready."

"There is no more time for him to be made more ready, than he is now."

It was strange for both parties to be having such a conversation, as if they were old comrades.

As if the creature had grown to the company of humans. But had he? Did he not still want to destroy these humans, relish in the taste of their blood, take back the reedom that was rightfully his?

What had changed? What did Abraham do? With his chemicals, his mental experimentation, his commands.

Something wasn't right. He still hated them, he hated this man with a passion. That fire of fury still burned within what was left of his soul. He enjoyed playing the part of the submissive servant. The deceit was almost amusing, wearing the coat was one effective way of acting the part for the old man. Though to tell the truth, he didn't lie as he said he liked the color.

But he had played this role before. Centuries ago, while captive to the Turks, he pretended to train and fight for the Sultan and with his Islamic dogs. And when they foolishly released their older hostage, in a few short years following that, he impaled hundreds of their foot soldiers, hoisting the corpses as high as the heavens.

This would be easy, playing the faithful servant to the new brat, Arthur Hellsing, only 11 at the time, would not suspect his deceit, his lies.

But if that were true, that he held no meaning or sympathy for this family, then why did he feel a heavy weight in his chest, on the rainy morning that Sir Abraham Van Hellsing had been found by young Arthur dead in his bed.

~+*1944, 22 Years later*+~

Alucard certainly had more freedom in this new age. Arthur, now a man, knighted by Her Majesty, and respected by his colleagues, and leader of the Hellsing Organization was quite a laid back leader. He took charge of course, and kept Alucard and his abilities in check. But he would from time to time summon him for the most mundane of tasks. The one most notably when they received their newest, and youngest member.

"You want me to fight alongside a _child_?" Alucard scoffed, looking at the photo and file in hand.

"He needs training Alucard, this lad is no average soldier in my ranks. His father was skilled, just as he is. But he needs much work."

He re-read it as it was on the documented memo:

_"Walter Dornez, son of Maria and the late Carter Dornez. Walter has appeared stoic since his father's passing. Walter has aspired to work in special ops for Mr. Dornez's employer, the Hellsing Organization._

_Skills: Walter is a nimble and quiet child, well versed in the art of deception. Dornez is experienced in physical and mental training and conditioning pre and post Mr. Dornez's passing. _

_Weaponry: Classified_

"And what exactly is the reason that it is classified?" Alucard inquired, but didn't get his answer from Arthur. He felt a stinging pain, as he rubbed the side of his face. Blood coated his gloved hand, as he turned.

"Ah Walter! Just in time!" Sir Hellsing said with glee, barely minding the elder vampire with the bleeding cheek.

There stood in the doorway a young boy in his adolescence, dark pants, vest, tie, a white button-up shirt, and ruffled black hair. Pale blue eyes pierced into the vampire for a solid minute, before turning to his new employer.

He curtly bowed, "Yes Sir?" He asked,

"This is Alucard, my finest...employee. He will be your instructor, and opponent. He is what you have to fight, what you will have to kill."

Using kids now? How cruel. Though this was a thought laced with sarcasm in the vampire's mind. He didn't care, he was a child that would grow into it, he would get used to killing, the war, the screams, the pain...

Just as he had.

No, this wasn't sympathy. Why should he feel any emotion or feeling at all? Let alone for a human child.

But maybe he had potential.

In the next few months to come, Alucard would see this progress and potential for himself. He was impressed, truly. The boy was quick, quiet and nimble on his feet. And his skills with that weapon he wielded within gloved hands was remarkable. He almost felt proud.

He certainly was entertained when he and young Walter pursued and attacked a Nazi hideout in Warsaw. The Germans were manufacturing ghouls galore. But they were attempting to perfect the process, so as they may reek havoc on the world with an army of 1000 vampires under their command.

After that incident, Alucard felt very uplifted when they had finished their work in the bloodbath. He was fond of taunting Walter over the years as he matured, and of course his usual antics with Arthur.

As Sir Hellsing grew older, he lost his touch. His nights with ladies of the evening diminished. He no longer went out drinking to the corner town pub with his closest colleagues on the Round Table-Penwood and Irons, if the vampire recalled properly.

And if Alucard was one to say so, his sense of humor was quite dull. In that aspect he was very much like Abraham. As he grew old with age he was bitter towards Alucard, treated him moreso as a tool, a weapon. While that was why the original Hellsing had been testing and twisting with the vampire's DNA and physiology, Arthur kept tight quarters when it came to Alucard's usual routine of playfully harassing his Master like a child.

Though the fun really did stop after two soldiers were killed during a scouting mission the vampire was conducting.

Apparently this stunt was the last that Arthur would tolerate. Alucard was reminiscent of his time with Abraham as he was bound against the stone wall of the same dugeon he was originally brought to.

He did not struggle or protest as he was sealed shut from the world once more. The memories came back to him like an old friend as his boy slowly began to whither from the lack of blood consumption.

It may have been from the familiar atmosphere, the feeling of loneliness that made him wish Abraham was here. He would even be so bold to say he grew on him, the vampire had enjoyed that Dutchman's company. He was a strong human even as he had been old with age. He even still appreciated Arthur. He locked him up believing Alucard to have killed the soldiers on a whim. But he should have known that he would not betray his Master. He had not disobeyed Abraham, so why would he do so with his son? He had no gain for doing so.

But, he supposed it would be the last time he saw the Hellsing. It would be some time before he would be found, if anyone bothered to look for him. Though he highly doubtd so. But perhaps Arthur would have a child? He was eying a woman he noticed before he was locked away. He had met her after the attack they took care of at the Aboriginal Embassy in Liverpool.*

Perhaps a third son in the Hellsing family? Perhaps, but for now, he felt very tired. His mind was faltering as his dried husk of a body already had. He let go, allowing his hazed thoughts to fade as everything grew darker and darker...

~+*1989*+~

He was very close, not a son. But a daughter.

The blood hit him, the small flame of consciousness grew, unable to be extinguished. His senses revived. His once dry skin, once sunken, now fully rejuvenated, the empty dark holes in his face, now filled with two wide opened eyes with thick red irises.

He growled as he had been fully woken up to the sound of a scream, a gunshot. THe cowering a grown men followed as he tore away the binds holding him in place.

"The-Th The corpse!" One man rambled.

Five men, one woman. Two of them of the Hellsing line.

But the only one he saw was the one sitting up, grasping her bleeding shoulder as she looked at him in stunned surprise.

He disposed of the henchmen, tearing through their flesh like paper. He cackled in delight as his bloodlust was slowly quenched.

He saved the scum, Richard it was as he learned later, for last as the girl grasped the gun.

He exchanged words, challenging her, he wanted a strong Master. One worthy of serving as he had Arthur, and that of Abraham.

She looked him directly in the glowing red eyes as she swore never to surrender, that she would rather die than be commanded and belittled by a vampire. He loved her courage, he loved the strength, he loved the strong will she held in the face of death.

This girl, this Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing would be a wonderful Master.

After he was released from the dungeon a second time, he followed her every command. He would often tease her-all the same as he did with Arthur-as she reached adulthood. She would yell, she would throw objects at him. But he enjoyed the pain she loved to inflict on him. He oh so loved it when she would load the pistol she had in her desk with silver. He loved being punished like this.

She was a good Master. He felt he wanted nothing more than to serve her always. He couldn't help but enjoy the Master-Servant relationship hey held.

She wouldn't be able to understand why he enjoyed the pain and the servitude as he did so.

To be honest, he didn't know either. It felt like he needed them. He didn't know how to function without being given an order. He needed a command, he needed a Master.

If he had no Master, no one to order him, no one to rule him.

He would be nothing.

Translations and Footnotes

~I don't have to answer to you, Helsing

*Just some creative license for the rest, but if you notice in Episode 10 of the original Hellsing anime there is a photograph of what looks to be a woman of Aboriginal roots holding a small child. I'm perceiving this woman as Integra's mother.


End file.
